The small things in life
I just want a perfect sperm
July 19, 2002
I'm over the moon, 'cause I've decided to get preggies before the menopause hits
like the Bing Bang. But before you all hide and lock up your sons and brothers, refill
the Channel-tunnel, hold mass demonstrations to protect your family jewels and design
male chastity belts: Hold your horses and don't worry!
I don't want a relationship (my conscience wouldn't let me do that to anybody)! And
I don't want to get married. I simply haven't got the space. I am not alone; I am
a Zenish-All-One-kinda chick and thoroughly enjoy my multiple-personality order.
"We" are a civilized commune residing in that small area of my grey cells
and "we" all democratically discuss things in harmony and even squeeze
the toothpaste in a correct and befitting manner.
I just want a perfect sperm! I don't fancy the idea
of a sperm bank. Who in their right mind would go through the elaborate exertions
of such generous, sacrificial offerings as their own sperm in a booth of all places?!
Yes, you've guessed it. Only that geek in the brown corduroys with a hippie-hangover
swinging and swaying his hairy, freckled limbs to Lulu's "Shout" at last
year's Christmas office party! (By the way something has always puzzled me: who brings
these people along each year?) I just want a perfect sperm. Is that too much to ask?
I've begged my ex-husband, but to no avail. "Darling, lovely idea, but we can't
afford an extension at the moment". Typical. He wriggles out of things with
his sweetness in tact. I should have insisted on a 'sperm options clause' in the
divorce papers rather than joint custody of the Baby Grand piano. Lawyers never think
of these things! What the devil do they teach them at their expensive schools?
I just want a perfect sperm. A single, just one, minute, cute, little sperm to start
off with. That's all I want. Just a test-drive without joy-riding, and no road-rage
follow-up. Just a small and pure being that is part of life on Mother Earth. Just
a wee thingy: smaller than a tadpole and with more brains than its current owner.
Yes, just a tinsy whinny bit of genetic nirvana. That's all I want. I just want a
perfect sperm. 'Cause, believe me, I deserve one.
I mean, here I am sternly, diligently producing ignored eggs each month. And I've
been doing this religiously every month of the year for quite a number of years now.
As you've gathered: I'm disciplined in this matter, always punctual and courteous.
All this painstakingly hard work is going unnoticed. I'm never appreciated for my
hard work. It's an outrageous waste. Even a chicken has a better time of it. At least
she gets fed and housed for her egg-production! I just want a perfect sperm.
I know you are now feeling greatly sorry for me. What a pitiful status quo. I know
you all love your country of origin and have a deep desire to procreate in order
to preserve our glorious aryan genes. But please, my fellow generous countrymen!
Don't rush out and get caught with your milk bottles at your local post office, just
because spam-free email sperm-transfers haven't been invented yet!
Whilst I truly appreciate your kind offers of help, your innate charitable sense
of martyrdom and I revel in the elation of such a display of patriotic spirit; I
simply have to be honest with you : I prefer cheques at the moment. Call me a 'materialistic
occidentalist'. Call me what you will. But please, do not hesitate to donate in any
hard currency whatsoever.
I don't want to place any pressure on you, your cheque
doesn't have to be perfect like my wish of a sperm. Just a healthy chunk of your
monthly income will do. I'm flexible that way. Think of it as an investment in the
future genetic heritage of your country. Think of it as advanced child maintenance
payments without the hassle of a marriage and a divorce. Think what you will, but
Once the fund has been impregnated enough, has bulged a bit and I begin to resemble
a kangaroo with a serious pouch, I shall also be able to accept credit cards. (Just
to make life easier , comfortable and effortless for those of you living across the
pond.) I thank you all in advance, wholeheartedly. Actually, "we" all thank
you. And "we" all really mean it! Taarof, bi taarof.
PS: Our very own Jahanshah Javid has (under great duress) agreed to be in charge
of your generously ostentatious donations. See? Your money will be in good hands!
Just click here.